Puttanesca
by Terfle
Summary: Jack and Concetta went way back and had been involved with each other more than they would like to admit. Smut
1. Chapter 1

**While puttanesca sauce is commonly referred to as 'whore's sauce,' it was not officially recorded as such until the 1950s, a lot later than the time that this story is set**

It was too late to have a proper meal. They had been talking for hours, shifting from standing at the bar to an empty table and when everyone had left, he helped her clear and set up for closing. She led him to the kitchen, still talking and he watched as she made a simple dish made from the leftovers. It was delicious. When they had scraped the last of it from the bowl, he quizzed her on what it was called and she giggled. Not a light frothy giggle, something earthier. The timbre of it flipped his stomach and warmed him up even more than the dish.

'It is called puttanesca.'

'What does it mean?' Jack liked languages.

'It means _'throw any old scraps together and make a simple dish'_ sauce. Like making use of the food from the bin.'

'Is that particularly funny in Italian?'

'Well a lot of people call it the whore's sauce. A dish a lady of that class would make. We don't tell that to the customers.'

He was taken aback. Concetta was a refined delicate speaker. Where did this matter of fact tone of voice come from? She caught his eye and giggled again. There it was. That fluttering in the pit of his stomach.

'Have you never visited a whore, Gianni?'

He was astonished by her frank conversation.

'No.'

'Have you never been unfaithful?'

Jack's mind spooled back to the war. Only once, had he been unfaithful. Rosie would have skinned him alive and made sure her father would have stamped on him for good measure if she had known. He had never told anyone.

'Only once. During the war.'

'And?'

Jack turned red. He didn't want to say anymore. Concetta was usually a lot more tactful than that. But tonight, her eyes were gleaming and a curious smile played upon her lips. She sat back and watched him stammer through his version of events. The French girl was blonde with a name he couldn't pronounce, she had laughed at his coarse accent. They had bathed in the river together and they had dried off seeking comfort in a mercifully empty barn full of hay. It sounded like such a cliché but that was how it had happened. It had been a heady rush of half an hour and feeling exhilarated, they'd parted ways, never to see each other again. He had hardly thought of her over the years and hope she was married to a good farmer with several children by now.

'Very cute' was the resulting comment. He looked up at her. She was smiling again. Not a malicious smile. She had genuinely enjoyed the story. The atmosphere in the room felt off kilter. Jack had heard all his life about how a woman was a jealous creature if you mentioned another but that wasn't what he was seeing here.

'Does your wife know?'

She knew the answer but was waiting for him to tell her. She was leading him into a path untrodden and he was allowing her to lead him there. He supplied the answer and waited for her next move.


	2. Chapter 2

'What purpose would it serve if I did tell her?'

He felt callous saying it but he had no wish to hurt his wife.

'Does your husband…?'

'Of course he has. He doesn't make a habit of it. But once in a while.' She sat there, fingers pleating the tablecloth in sudden dejection.

He was shocked by her cavalier words.

'Why do you put up with it?'

She shrugged bitterly. 'Do I have a choice? You men do what you want while we women wait at home for you because we aren't allowed to do anything else.' Her mutinous tone hadn't escaped his attention. He was aware other husbands weren't as steadfastly faithful as him but he felt disgusted when he heard one or two of them bragging about their conquests in public. He didn't want to be like those men.

She looked up and leaned forward. 'Have you ever been tempted? Just once? The French girl doesn't count.'

'I think she does' he said stiffly. She wasn't satisfied with his moral rectitude and snorted contemptuously. He didn't know what to make of it. Her mood had changed and there was a dangerous tint to the air. He wanted to get up and leave but something kept him to his chair and made him want to stay. He didn't know what he wanted.

She got up while he was still staring at his empty plate and hovered behind him until he was aware of her fingers tickling his neck and her perfume enveloping his senses. He looked up in shock and froze to his chair as she massaged his shoulders and slid her hands down his chest. Her hand pressed on his heart to feel it beating double time.

He got up so abruptly that she leapt back and the chair crashed to the floor. He rushed towards the door and looked back. He couldn't say why he stopped. She stared him down as something electric drew them closer together and before he knew it, it spilled over and made him lose control of his wits. He pulled her towards him, claimed her lips with his and she didn't resist. How they ended up pressed up against the cold wall he just couldn't remember but clothes were unbuttoned and tossed aside. She grabbed his hand and thrust it to rub in-between her legs with a groan as he nibbled on her neck and wrapped himself around her. She was wearing a cotton dress with red flowers on it, the only innocent thing in the room, unbuttoned enough to show off darkened rose nipples freed from her brassiere. They went at it fast and fast; panting in unison, their heads clasped together with her leg and dress hiked up to allow him access to her most hidden depths.

When their hearts had finished racing, they'd released each other and looked at each other in horror. There was no going back now. Neither would be able to look at each other's spouses in the face. He gathered up his shirt and put it on but before he could button it up, she'd stalked past and the scent of their adultery was too strong to ignore. He grabbed her arm and for a second he thought she'd strike him for his impertinence. She stared at him with glittering eyes and he felt that her fury was enough to scorch his skin. She pulled him towards her, slid her hands down to stroke his hardness and ended up slammed on the table being furiously fucked by a man who was definitely not her husband. Missionary had never felt so good. She braced her feet, arched her back and cried out with pleasure as many times as she could muster. She'd never been so turned on by such a pussy pounding. For his part, he'd never done it standing up twice in a row but was willing to try anything right now, there was a fury in his head and he wasn't thinking straight. When they were done, the fire in their hearts and loins started to subside and they looked at each other in blank resignation. Even sprawled on the table half naked she was elegant and sensual while he was agitated and mussed-up. She thought he'd never looked so handsome. He helped her up and they tidied themselves up. Running a hand through his hair, he opened his mouth to say something but she started to wash up the dishes and clear the kitchen. For a moment their eyes connected regretfully but they turned away at the same time and he left her to it. Back home to his innocent wife. He felt like such a bastard.

She was vengefully gratified when her husband had returned and absentmindedly kissed her goodnight. He'd been gambling, she could tell. She'd waited until he'd gone up to bed and slid her hands between her legs for a repeat performance, albeit silently. She felt no guilt over her pig of a husband. Only a twinge of it for her friend and his wife. She waited for the bomb to descend on them all once he told, but he never did.


	3. Chapter 3

He had enjoyed it immensely. But he had vowed never to cheat on his wife again and he had broken that vow. They were never in the same room alone again and never spoke of it.

When Rosie had finally filed for divorce he felt as if he'd deserved it, the hound that he was. He'd stood up in court and pretended to lie that he'd been unfaithful for her sake but although she never suspected, he knew he was a liar through and through. She'd been grateful to him after that but he brushed it aside. He didn't deserve it for what he did with another man's wife. Even when he was a divorced man, he and Concetta never behaved so badly with each other again.

A long time later she became a widow. Jack Robinson was the one who had to investigate her husband's murder. He had gotten nowhere and had to endure watching her misery from the side-line. They both had to play their respective parts, but it had taken another year to finally be free of the guilt.

Concetta had taken him by surprise, by finally getting the chance to kiss him as she wanted to. Even more, proposed to give both of them the life he had always thought he'd wanted. But as much as he considered it, he knew that he was a changed man. A freight train of expensive French perfume had rampaged through his life and stolen his heart and they both knew it.

He hoped that she would find what she was searching for because he made himself a promise to never to set foot in Stranos again and this time he kept it.


End file.
